


By Order of Le Roi

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Sherlock December Ficlets 2017 [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Sherlock December Ficlets 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: A pastry fit for a king brings unexpected sweetness to a certain detective inspector and a minor government official.





	By Order of Le Roi

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the [Sherlock December Ficlets ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fcollections%2FSherlock_December_Ficlets_2017&t=NjRmODc4ZjE3OGJjNjUzYzg2NWVhY2QzMTRjNDJmOTUwMzdkOTRhMCxabzFVQjBkMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AfMPAp7-tN-90HMCNGHRDOw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmissdaviswrites.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F167644180668%2Fsherlock-december-ficlets&m=0) challenge. Each will be its own story, though knowing me a couple may follow an arc of sorts.  
> The prompt used for this entry: Mistletoe / Decorating

Greg knew it was wrong. Human Resources was likely to have him take it down if someone on the floor ratted him out for it, but it was unlikely.

It’s been busy at New Scotland Yard across all departments these past few weeks. He’d swear half the criminals in London had a pow-wow and decided to run amuck across the city and outer areas for the holidays. Saying things were hectic in the Major Crimes squad room would mean the load had lightened-up some. Greg figured a dash of levity was needed. It's been on since 6am, it was now half past 8am. He knows it's been noticed, but no one has had the temerity to say anything to him - yet.

He was deep in paperwork an hour later when there was a knock on his door.

“Ya?” He barely glanced up from his desk in acknowledgement, but that mere glance made his heart stutter.

Mycroft Holmes.

The man walked into his office a few weeks ago bearing gifts of good coffee and the most magnificent tasting pastries as thanks for Greg and his team's assistance in the take down of a master criminal from Minsk that his people had been tailing as well. It was made all the sweeter, because it had been a difficult case and one Lestrade had solved on his own. You don't spend time working with the Holmes boys and not pick up a thing, or two, or thirty.

Though he had hid far in the back during the press conference, Mycroft had nodded at him with a slight smile. In Holmes speak, it translated to the minor government official being very impressed with the detective inspector’s observance of the clues that eventually broke the case open. The treats showed up the next morning.

Greg was in his office when the goodies were delivered to one of the conference rooms. He had just stood, on his way to get a treat before horde devoured everything in sight, when Mycroft appeared at his door with a small pastry box.

“Sherlock tells me you like _galette des roi_ , detective inspector.”

“I love it, when I can ge… No!” Greg eyed the box in Mycroft’s hands excitedly. “But it’s too early in the season! They don’t come out until mid-December, if I’m lucky!”

“Let’s just say I know someone.” Mycroft held out the box to him. 

“Oh, do come in and close the door.”  Greg waved him happily in.

“You don’t want to share?” The Iceman teased, their fingers brushing when he held the box a tad tightly as Greg all but snatched it from him.

Was Mycroft Holmes flirting? Of course not! Greg immediately dismissed it for the impossibility it had to be.

“I may play well with others, but there are some things I don’t share.” Lestrade all but drooled as he opened the box to reveal the flaky puff pastry filled with frangipane. He grinned removing the little gold crown.

Mycroft shook his head, a small smile played at his lips as Greg took a deep sniff. “Oh God, I can smell the butter!”

The detective sighed in pleasure with the first bite. He didn’t mean to, but it had been nearly a year since he had the seasonal treat and this was the best galette des roi he had tasted, ever. Greg noticed as Mycroft gripped his umbrella a little tightly, watching the DI enjoy the pastry.

“Oh, forgive my manners! Thank you, Holmes.” Greg guiltily licked a flaky crumb from the corner of his lip.

“Gregory, you know who I am. I am not given to random acts, yet I consider you -er- your team's work worthy to personally hand deliver pastry. I think we can dismiss the formalities of surnames. At least in the confines of privacy. Yes?” A dark auburn brow admonished.

“Yes, you’re right. Thank you, Mycroft.” Greg nodded. He realized he has never said the man’s first name out loud except as introduction with his surname. He liked the way the breath of it fell across his lips.

“Any time, Gregory. Well, between December and mid-January any way.” Mycroft opens the door to leave just as Donovan enters, accidentally knocking the ever present umbrella from his wrist. Sally gasped surprised; even Greg had blinked. He knew the brolly was not permanently attached to the man, but he had never seen it drop before. He had half-expected the thing to explode. Sally started to apologize, but the man simply brushed it off with a Cheshire smile, squatted and retrieved the item from the floor.

That was when Greg noticed.

He noticed the strong thigh muscles as they slightly strained the material of Mycroft's trousers. By the time Mycroft stood and met his eyes again, Greg had already wondered what those strong thighs would feel like wrapped around him.

“If you want more, you know where to find me.” Mycroft tipped his head in farewell.

When Greg licked his lips in response, he did not know whether it was for the pastry or for the man. The errant thought caught him so off guard he immediately ducked his head to the papers on his desk to hide the crimson flush. He knew Mycroft had seen it by his hasty retreat, adding to Greg’s mortification.

It was not as if Greg had not noticed the man before. He had. He had noticed more than just his physique. Over time, as they worked to keep the mad genius of Sherlock in check personally, and then having worked together professionally, Greg had come to know more of the Iceman himself. In fact, Greg knew he was more than a little enamored of the posh mastermind. But what could he do? It was Mycroft bloody Holmes for Christ’s sake! That level of ice and elite would never be interested in a piece of East End rough like him, even if he is a highly respected cop in his own right. Their worlds simply did not mix.

It was easy enough to dismiss thoughts of the man in the light of day, but damn if Greg had not begun to wonder what was under the enigmatic man’s expensive suits. Worse - images of Holmes had taken to invading Lestrade’s dreams in the time since then. He had awakened from a particularly vivid one involving a ride in a black sedan that left him with an ache demanding release as he showered this morning. That ache sprang to the fore front anew as Mycroft Holmes, in all his waistcoat suited elegance, stands at his door with a quirked brow.

“If you’re busy detective inspector, I can come by another time.” He turns as if prepared to leave.

“Get in here, Holmes. You do not casually come by these offices. What can I do to -erm- for you?” Greg leans back in his chair with a lot more casualness than he felt. Only because Greg was looking at them, that he notices as Mycroft’s lip does the tiniest quirk at the DI’s near slip. And God how Greg suddenly wanted to flick his tongue across those lips.  Mycroft closes the blinds for privacy, as was his habit now, before he walks to the desk and sat arranging his body and the pleat of his trouser leg _just so_ before speaking on the business that brought him to the office.

“May I?” Mycroft indicates coming around to look at something on Greg’s computer a while later. Greg nods and moves a little to the side offering space. Lestrade forces himself to concentrate on the data in front of him and not the body bent beside him when Mycroft placed his umbrella and coat to the side, then came around the desk to look over Greg’s information. The body heat coming off the Icemen belied the pseudonym. An hour ago Greg had a thought regarding Mycroft. He might be wrong, but as he mentally weighs the evidence in front of him, he goes with his hunch.

“Oh, one thing, Mycroft...” Greg opens his drawer and pulls out a little figurine.

Mycroft's brow creases slightly recognizing it, but stands crossing his arms across his chest and waits.

“Now, as I understand the tradition, the youngest person in the room calls the names of those who get a slice. As it was a single serving of galette des roi, which you gave to me directly, that’s covered.” Greg sits up in his chair.

Greg knows he is the senior of the two of them by a couple of years. Mycroft was the only other person in the room at the time of serving, thus he cannot negate either statement. Mycroft nods saying nothing, so Greg half-shrugs and continues.

“As the sole partaker of the galette, by default, I am the person who found the fève and must lay claim to it so: _J'ai la fève._ And then I must wear the crown, correct?” Greg reaches in the drawer and dons the little gold crown that came with the galette. Greg knows exactly how ridiculous he looks at the moment and can barely keep from smirking.

“That is correct on both counts.” Mycroft nods once, his face as impassive as always.

“Now, I need to declare a counterpart. As I do like to buck tradition when it suits my purpose and since you are the only other person in the room, by the default I declare you roi along with me. Thus _Vive le roi, Mycroft!_ ”

“I have no idea where this is going, but for the sake of tradition or rather your bucking of it: _Vive le roi, Gregory!_ ” Mycroft’s face is still neutral, but Greg can sense the tiniest hint of amusement within the man's eyes as he goes along with it.

“Finally, as the one who found the _fève_ and wears the crown. I am _le roi du jour_ as it were. You left before I could make a ruling to enjoy my reign that day. So as the only person I can rule, it seems only fair that I be granted five minutes to actually, you know - _rule_.”  Greg stands watching the amusement flee the Iceman’s face momentarily as he rapidly deduces options.

“Five minutes, Lestrade. It can’t involve anything or anyone entering or leaving this room - starting now.” When Mycroft pulls the watch from his waist coat and starts the timer Greg trusts his hunch is correct and goes for it.  

“Excellent. By order of _le roi_ : Kiss me right now and make it as good as that damned galette you gave me.” Greg leans on the edge of his desk and waits.

Mycroft blinks as he pauses long enough to discern whether Greg means it. Something in the ice blue stare shifts as he scans the detective inspector and suddenly he is not the Iceman anymore. In fact, Greg sees something he has never seen from Mycroft Holmes before – the briefest moment of surprise followed by hesitation.  

Mycroft leans in enough, so that their lips just barely touch. It’s an unsure, tentative, almost shy move from the man, making Greg feel honored that he would be allowed to see this from someone always in such control. Greg sighs slightly in encouragement and Mycroft increases the pressure. Greg honestly had no preconceived notions of what he had expected, but discovering lips that were firm, yet yielding surprised him as the contact lingers past the point of being chaste. He feels Mycroft’s lips part slightly, a hint of warm breath and the tiniest flick of a tongue teases. When Greg responds to that tease with an answering flick of his own tongue, he knows that is the moment of Mycroft’s acceptance that this is really going to happen. Mycroft’s strong fingers graze along Greg’s jaw gently angling the position as he steps in closer to deepen the kiss.

And that’s when Greg feels it.

In that moment Gregory Lestrade knows with absolute certainty that Mycroft Holmes has wanted this as badly as he. And oh God wasn’t that a heady feeling?

Greg hadn’t realized he raised his arms until feels the heat of Mycroft’s body within them as his fingers find purchase in the hair he somehow knew would be soft at the nape of Mycroft’s neck. A soft moan escapes the Iceman as Greg doesn’t tease anymore, taking command of the man’s mouth. Then it is Greg’s turn to moan as he feels Mycroft’s arm snake around him, pulling him closer still, pressing the full length of that long body against his as they kiss. Both are panting, their bodies desperate for breath when they separate at last, bringing their foreheads together.

“You already know I don’t play well with others and I already know you don’t share; neither do I. So, I don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore, will you?” When he could speak again, Mycroft points to the mistletoe Greg had jokingly hung above his chair. Greg reaches up, yanks it down and tosses it in the bin.

“No, I don’t think I will.” He clears his throat, thrown, yet delighted by the sight of a debauched Mycroft Holmes in his arms.

“But do keep the tinsel. It suits you.” Mycroft deadpans at the metallic garlands Greg had decorated himself with. Some were wrapped around his arms, with several hanging from his neck like floral leis.

Mycroft straightens his clothing, but there was no hiding he had been quite thoroughly kissed as he picks up his umbrella and coat and heads for the door.

“Last thing, Holmes...” Greg sits back at his desk looking at papers again.

“Yes, Detective Inspector?” The minor government official turns at the opened door. Brown eyes lifts to meet blue.

“If you want more, you know where to find me.”

Mycroft full out grins at the recalled words. Greg had never seen such an honest smile reach those piercing eyes before. He is nearly stunned by the beauty of it as the Iceman checks his pocket watch.

“Regrettably, I’ve a meeting with the PM which I expect will take some time. Perhaps tomorrow 8pm, mon roi?”

“8pm tomorrow then, mon roi.”


End file.
